


There Goes the Fear

by maybesheglows



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, unsafe sex kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23866105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybesheglows/pseuds/maybesheglows
Summary: Justin fantasizes about Brian fucking him raw. Brian makes it as close to a reality as he can.
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 70





	There Goes the Fear

"I think about you fucking me raw."

I'm almost asleep when he says it. His voice wakes me.

We've already fucked twice, once against the pillar after getting back from Babylon and again in the shower. The three billion thread count sheets are working their magic because I'm quickly falling asleep. He's far enough away that I can't hear his breathing, which is why I almost don't hear him when he says it. But my ears have long been attuned to his voice, the different tones it has, the specific timbre it takes on when he's speaking to me, speaking to me about sex.

I look over at him. His shoulders and back – so pale in the darkness – are relaxed, the rise and fall of his breath slow. At first I think he's talking in his sleep. He does that from time to time. I would find it cute if I had thoughts like that. I don't acknowledge his confession, instead decide that he is just talking in his sleep and attempt to get back to my almost slumber. But then he continues, his voice clear and louder this time, with an edge of something I don't much hear when he speaks – nervousness. He keeps talking, and all the while I'm on my back next to him, my head turned toward him as he talks.

"I think about how it would feel...your cum dripping out of me. It seems like it would feel gross, probably. But it's a part of you, and the idea of having a part of you a part of me makes it...not gross. No, not gross at all,” his voice goes from uneasy to low and gravelly, thinking of this, of me, inside him like that, no barriers. "It makes it hot," he moves his hand to his cock, which is probably halfway hard at this point, and begins to stroke, slowly.

His hand is moving on his cock and he's emitting tiny moans that I know so well, and it's driving me crazy. Back and forth, steady, setting a rhythm, his breathing getting heavier all the time. He's been jerking his dick for maybe a minute now. I can't decide if I want to acknowledge what he said. If I do, and if he keeps stroking and moaning like that, then I'll probably end up telling him that I've fantasized about that, too. And he does not need to know that I've thought about that. About him, mostly.

Thought about how his face will look when I come in his ass. How his pupils will be blown wide with desire and ardor. How his ass will feel around my bare cock, cocooned in his overwhelming heat, so tight, always so tight, and how it will be even hotter and tighter without the condom. And his face when I push in the first time. How he will instinctively pull me in tighter with his legs and arms and ass and mouth and his entire being. How, afterward, he will be forever marked by me, as if he wasn't already. And how I won't want to pull out, not ever. I think of how, if we take that step, I will never want to leave the warmth of his body, the security he gives me. I know I won't. If we do that, and I come inside him, nothing will ever be the same. And that scares the shit out of me.

I look away from him, suddenly aware of how real my thoughts have become.

The risks are one thing, but I would never fuck him raw if I knew I had something, and I know he would never do that to me. As scary as that part is, there are ways to quell that fear. Tests, official documentation that I'm clean, that he's clean. There is no fucking way to tell, however, just how much more I'm going to want him if we take that step. I already want him more than I should, more than I ever thought I could, in ways I never imagined possible, but it just keeps getting stronger, this want. And fucking him raw would only increase it, and that's not okay. Not okay at all. Not okay at fucking all.

Justin's breath hitches suddenly; he's close. I turn over on my side all the way and he stops his movements, now aware that I'm watching. He turns his head to me and I get a good look at his face. Even in the darkness of the loft I can see that his cheeks and chest are flushed from arousal. I look down to his dick, and it's so hard and he's leaking a mess of precum, and I look at my own and realize that so am I. He licks his lips then, says my name, and it's more of a question because he doesn't know the protocol here and neither do I. He says my name again, only this time there is no question on his tongue. It's full of sex and husk and it makes me forget. Forget about what I was thinking. Forget how afraid the thought of fucking him raw made me. I forget, and in one swift motion I am covering him, the length of my body pressing down against his.

I invade his mouth, my tongue pushing ferociously inside causing our teeth to knock. I close my eyes against the pain but don't pull back because this is what I want. I want it to hurt. I am going to fuck him and I want it to be brutal. I want him to feel this for hours afterward; when he wakes up tomorrow I want him to feel me. I kiss him forcefully, my tongue not letting up so that he has to breathe through his nose. My tongue pushes past his and moves deeper into his mouth as I move my hips against his, creating a perfect friction. He moans into the kiss but I barely register the noise over the intensity of my need to fuck him. I grab his thighs and bring them around my waist, giving me better access to his cock. His hand moves to my face but I bat it away, grabbing both of his wrists in one of my hands, pinning them above his head. He protests at first, tries to wriggle out of my grip, but he quickly loses focus as the intensity of our rutting builds. His wrists are pinned in my hand and my tongue is in his mouth and the friction between our cocks is rough and hard and exactly what I want.

I fucking own him right now. His body is mine for me to do with as I please, and I use this to my every advantage. I don't stop rutting against him. I don't stop kissing him. I don't stop any of this delicious torture. I don't stop. His cock strains against me and his moans are a mix of pain and pleasure. His hands are still pinned in mine; the friction is hot and a little rough, but I don't let up. Not yet. He pulls his lips away, putting his head back on the pillow to look at me, and his face nearly breaks me. His cheeks are flushed and pupils blown, but his eyes register fear. They dart back and forth between mine, searching. He's trapped. Trapped between wanting the pleasure to continue and wanting this hard, emotionless fuck to end. He doesn't look away from me, but I don't stop thrusting. I lay my body even more against his, putting more weight on him, increasing the friction against our cocks. He never looks away from me. I keep up the rhythm, needing something, anything, to keep me from actually thinking about what I am doing.

He opens his mouth to speak but I am not ready for anything that he has to say right now, so I bring my head back to his to continue the assault on his mouth, but he moves his head to the side, away from me.

"Brian." It's a plea and a request and an apology and too many other things for me to digest right now. I keep thrusting, tightening my grip on his wrists. "Brian." He says it again, his voice edged with uncertainty, and I would know that sound anywhere. Tears. He's going to cry.

I'm trying to fuck him within an inch of his life, and he is about to cry.

Everything about this is so fucking wrong.

I let go of his wrists and stop thrusting as my body slowly sinks down against his. Every inch of my body stills as I come crashing down into the reality of this moment. My head is still resting against the side of his neck, and I don't want to look up at him because he is already broken and I am about to break, and this can only get worse.

He sniffs once, jarring in the now silence of the loft. I grit my teeth as I lift my head to meet his eyes and am unsurprised by the glassiness I find there. At least the fear is gone. Neither of us knows what to say in this moment. His eyes are so blue and wide and ashamed, and I know that he's sorry, but I should be the one who's fucking sorry.

He speaks, the uncertainty evident in his voice. "Brian, I didn't mean to-"

"It doesn't matter." I cut him off, not prepared to hear him apologize. He has got nothing to be sorry about. Fucking nothing.

He starts again. "Brian, I know that we can't do that. I know that it's not an option for us, but I just wanted you to know that-"

"I do know, Sunshine."

"No, Brian," his voice is more confident this time, but the tears in his eyes are still threatening to spill. "I know that we can't fuck raw. I do. But I think about it sometimes. I can't help it." His voice catches on the last word as one fat tear slips from his eye. Neither of us attempts to wipe it away. I watch as it slides down into his hair, leaving a clear, wet path down the side of his face. The light from the window catches the trail it left.

I fight the urge to kiss him, to try to fix what I've so easily broken. But I don't. I lay atop him, watching, listening, waiting for...something, because I don't know what to say or do.

He continues, "I wouldn't want it if we weren't committed, Brian. I know it's not something that's going to happen, but I think about it, sometimes. I've never wanted it with anyone else." His eyes seem to darken suddenly. "Not even with Ethan." The certainty in his voice and the intent look in his eyes tell me that he means it.

He's looking up at me so insistently and it's my turn to say something. To fix this, to fix him. Part of me wants to ask why he never wanted it with Ethan, but the other part, the irrational one, wants to tell him that he isn't the only one who has had those thoughts.

My mind searches for something to say, anything, to make this better, to make him feel more assured, but nothing comes. I don't tell him that he has nothing to be sorry about. I don't tell him that he has no reason to be ashamed. I don't tell him how hot it makes me to think that he would only ever let me fuck him raw, no one else. None of that surfaces. I remain silent as I roll off of him to my side of the bed.

He says nothing. I say nothing.

My cock is still hard. So is his. Neither of us does anything about it.

I close my eyes and wait for sleep to take me, but I no longer feel tired. Behind my eyelids are visions of his face, the look of fear that I caused. I shake my head, trying to picture something else, maybe some sheep, but to no avail. I can't shake the thought of him only ever letting me fuck him raw. Just me. He wouldn't let any other dick inside him bare. The thought is staggering in its intensity.

He sniffs twice, bringing his left hand up to wipe away the tears that have fallen from his eyes.

My eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling, I take a deep breath, and speak.

"I think about it, too." I don't look to see his reaction. Instead, I make a split-second decision. I manipulate my body over to his in one fell swoop, blanketing him, and look him right in the eyes. His breath catches briefly at the suddenness of it all, but he quickly regains his composure. His hands remain at his sides, unsure if he should touch me.

I go on. "I think about it, too. Only, it's more than just think. I think about it late at night when I should be asleep. I let the thought of fucking you raw cloud my head until it's too much to bear and I have to wake you up so that I can fuck you right then. I think about it much more than I should."

He opens his mouth to say something but I kiss him before he can.

I cup his face in my hands and kiss him. It is slow and languid. My lips are closed at first, taking my time, letting him open his mouth to me. I kiss him over and over, again and again, waiting for him to kiss back. Finally he does. His mouth opens and he brings his hands to my shoulders, moving them slowly up toward my neck and face. The feel of his hands on me causes an electric charge to shoot through me, and I kiss him with everything that I have. Every stroke of my tongue against his is an apology, a declaration. He moans into my mouth and the sound causes me to shiver, as if a sudden chill were in the air. He pulls away and smirks as his hands move to my back, warming me. I smile, poking my tongue out to lick at his bottom lip, tracing it. He's fighting hard not to smile. As I move to his top lip he opens his mouth and I kiss him once more before reaching over to the nightstand for lube and a condom.

I squirt the lube onto my fingers and run it across his hole as he places the condom on my dick. I spread the lube around his hole and he clenches from the contact. He squeezes my dick, insistent, telling me to hurry up, that he wants this now. I prepare him, sliding in a finger and then two as quickly as I can without hurting him. As I remove my fingers I look up at him, wanton, writhing on the bed in anticipation of what's to come, I wonder fleetingly why the thought of loving him scares me so much. It's come pretty easily thus far. Even though I'd never tell him that. But then his hands are on my face, pulling me up to him, and the thought is replaced by how hot his thighs are as his legs come to wrap around my waist. I'm nestled in between them and I'm on fire. His entire being is radiating heat; it sears me, but it feels so fucking good to burn.

I position myself at his hole, ready to push in, but am suddenly overcome by a flash of fucking him without a condom. Neither of us is ready for that, but that doesn't mean that we can't think about it. I lean down against him, chest to chest, and look at him directly. I rub the tip of my cock back and forth over his hole as I tell him, “I can fuck you raw right now, Justin. I'm about to. Just picture it in your mind, your tight little ass so full of me, of my bare cock.” He closes his eyes to the sound of my voice, and when he opens them again they are ablaze with raw desire. He pulls my head to his for a kiss, his tongue wild in my mouth, and I can't wait any longer.

I thrust into him, sliding in slowly but easily, stretching him until I am all the way in. When I am in to the hilt, I still for a moment to kiss him, bathe his mouth with my tongue. He clenches his thighs around me, a plea for me to move. I retreat slowly, pulling out only a few inches before pushing back in, quicker this time. I set a rhythm, getting him used to it, used to the fast pushes in and the slow pulls out. It's enough to make both of us come, especially after being worked up from before, but that's not what I want.

I push into him quickly, tapping his prostate, and he groans in approval, reaching down for his dick. He begins to stroke, to match the rhythm that I've set, but I stop suddenly, stilling my movements and grabbing both of his hands. I lace our fingers together and place our hands on the bed near his head. "Brian." It is a plea. He wants to come. Now. I want him to come too, just not like that.

I begin to pull out, slowly, so slowly, letting him feel every sensation along the way, and thrust back in even slower. "Justin," my voice is rough, edged with want and sex, “I'm fucking you bareback." I press my lips to his once, pulling back before he can open his mouth to mine. "Nothing between us." I pull out, slow. As I begin to thrust back in I kiss him full on this time, opening his mouth with my tongue and running it along his. "Just you and me."

Once I'm in all the way I kiss him again, letting my lips linger against his. He must be feeling it at this point because he whimpers against my lips, simultaneously clenching his thighs around me tightly, so tightly. I gasp from the feel of it, barely able to move in his grip. Just as I'm about to tell him so he loosens up, acknowledging that I understand his pleadings.

I thrust more quickly now, hitting his prostate on every stroke. He moans with every tap I make against it, the sound feral. I lean down against him, our chests touching, faces level, and thrust in earnest. My chest, slick from our mingled sweat and his pre-cum, rubs against his cock with every thrust. My breaths are coming in quick gasps from the effort because I'm trying to hold on as long as I can, wanting him to come first. Just as I'm about to give in and let go his hands squeeze mine so tightly that I know our knuckles must be white. His ass begins its initial spasm around my cock and I bury my face in his neck. I thrust once, twice more and feel him come, his ass clenching my dick and his cock spurting between us. His orgasm triggers my own and I thrust into him once more before I come, jerking against him.

When I lift my head up from his shoulder to look at him, golden hair plastered to his forehead, pupils dilated from his climax, lips red and swollen from our kisses, my chest fills with this familiar feeling I've been having a lot these last couple of weeks.

Love.


End file.
